


I don't need a White Wedding

by copyfaced



Category: Tegan and Sara (Band)
Genre: Drama, F/F, F/M, Humor, Multi, Romance, quinlove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copyfaced/pseuds/copyfaced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tegan embarks on Sainthood Village to wed her future partner but something goes wrong. Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – One Lost Call

 

_You have reached Tegan’s voicemail. Sorry I’m a little busy right now. Please leave a message after the beep._

Beep.

_Hey, Tegan. It’s me Jimmy. Remember that restaurant building I told you about. The one formerly known as Lavender Pies? I finally found out why nobody here in Sainthood bought it. It seems the previous owner had a habit of poisoning the patrons she didn’t like! Hahahaha! Needless to say, Jimmy’s Bakery will not be featuring any kind of pies on the menu._

_I expect to be open for business in less than a week, which brings me to the point of this call. It pains me to have to tell you that someone new has come into my life._

A pause.

_Despite my deep feelings for you, I have fallen completely in love with someone else._

_And she and I will soon be married. I realized you expected to join me here in Sainthood for our supposed wedding, but a lot of things happened. That said, you can postpone your trip going here on Saturday. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you, but I’m sure a wonderful, caring person like yourself will find a better partner. I wish you a long happy life. Goodbye._

Click.

Of course, Jimmy had no way of knowing that Tegan was currently having a vacation in her hometown with her parents, celebrating a congratulatory party for her upcoming wedding with Jimmy. Everyone was busy getting drunk and happy in the Quin household. In a weird twist of luck her unanswered phone was accidentally switched with her brother Ted who went to a mountain hike after the party.

Jimmy on the other hand was blissfully unaware of anything except his own desires. Namely, perfecting his trademark recipe, Green Tea Doughnut, (which was inspired by Tegan initially) ogling upon the winsome features of his new fiancée Jenny Byrnes, and creating a truly unique and dramatic wedding cake for his upcoming nuptials.


	2. Bull

 

As the conductor passed through the car instructing those who wished to disembark in Sainthood to be getting to it, Tegan was so excited in her haste to exit the train she almost left her two small bags behind. This was her first time setting foot in this town. Sainthood was a little old fashioned but both Jimmy and her agreed that there is no better place to start a new life but in a new town.

As she stepped down onto the wooden platforms, she glanced to her right, where a small cluster of people stood waiting for their family and friends. She didn’t spot her fiancé amongst them, so Tegan stepped off the platform and started up the street that led into town. She hadn’t gotten but a few feet in that direction before she became aware of the commotion from her left, the thunder of hooves and a man shouting.

Tegan turned to see that the man was on horseback and trying to warn her that the beast running ahead of him was bearing down on Tegan. Stunned, she froze to the spot for a moment and then backed up a couple of steps. The beast, the biggest bull Tegan has ever seen, veered along with her. She moved forward and, again, the bull followed her movements thanks to her red t-shirt. The animal was just seconds from crashing into her when a swift pair of arms suddenly pushed her off the bull’s track and out of harm’s way.

 The next thing Tegan knew, she was flat on her back in the dirt and the stranger was stretched out on top of her.

“Welcome to Sainthood Village,” the stranger said in a female voice. “Are you alright?”

She looked up into eyes the color of honey and hazel. They were actually twinkling, filled with something akin to mirth despite the dire circumstances. Although the stranger had propped herself up on her elbows and was barely skimming Tegan’s body, she could feel her warmth from her breasts to her toes-and realized that she’d stopped breathing.

Tegan eked out, “Can’t. . .”

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“. . . breathe.”

“Oh, sorry.”

The stranger leapt to her feet and then pulled Tegan up alongside her. As she spun Tegan around and began dusting her off, uninvited, she said, “You’re lucky you weren’t gored. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Tegan gave herself a moment to consider this. Except for the fact that a woman only an inch taller than her had pinned her to the ground, she supposed that she was. “I think so.”

The man on horseback ride up then, towing the rampaging animal behind him. “Sorry about running you down like that, miss, but I guess this bad-tempered bull of mine isn’t too interested in taking a ride on the train. Is everyone good?”

“We’re fine,” the pretty stranger said.

Tegan was about to agree with her, but then she spotted her bags lying a few feet away. “My bags,” she said, hurrying over to retrieve it on the dirt. “It’s ruined.”

The cowboy, who’d already begin leading the bull away, said over his shoulder, “Figure up the damages young lady, and let Miss Clement know what they are. She’ll see you get your money.”

“Miss Clement?”

“Sara Clement,” said the stranger who saved her. “At your service.”

Regarding her, really looking her over this time, again Tegan’s breath caught. The woman was nothing short of dashing, turned out in a fine brown jacket, a black shirt with a high collar, and a thin fabric of jeans. Topping the look at an angle as mesmerizing as her honey dewed eyes, she wore a playful smirk. Sara flashed her another grin then, melting something inside the younger woman. Tegan had the distinct impression that Sara Clement knew she thought of her very pleasing to the eye.

Wondering how to respond to such display, or if she should even try, she finally made do with a simple. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Again with the grin, and again Tegan didn’t know what to do or say.

“Is someone meeting you?” Sara asked, saving her the trouble.

“I thought so, but he doesn’t seem to be here. Can you tell me where I might find Jimmy’s Bakery?”

Pointing down the street, Sara said, “It’s a couple of doors past the City Hall on the left. You can’t miss it. Just follow your nose.”

She reached down, collected her bags, and said, “Do you need some help?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I can manage.”

“As you wish.” After turning her bags over to her, Sara said, “When you figure out what’s owed for this, you can find me at Oh my Darling’s. It’s across the street from the police station.”

Then, leaving Tegan to wonder if she was making some kind of joke or if there really was such an establishment, Sara turned on her heel and continued on toward the other way.

Tegan looked after her for a moment, admiring her confident swagger and the way her jeans hugged her curved hips, and then mentally slapped herself. She was here to wed the man she loved after an absence of several weeks not to ogle other women like she used to in high school. She thought she already graduated from that.

Thinking only of Jimmy again, Tegan renewed her grip on the bags and headed up Main Street. As Sara suggested, all she had to do was follow her nose. The scent of fresh-baked bread mingled with something sinfully sweet led her a long until she was standing in front of Jimmy’s Bakery. Tegan paused, studying the freshly painted and gay curtains framing the windows in checkered squares of green and white. She was proud of all Jimmy had accomplished in so short a time, but somehow disappointed, too. She’d assumed that when she arrived, she’d be the one to apply the finish work and final touches, and just leave the baking to him. Apparently he’d managed everything all by himself.

Swallowing her disappointment and eager to see her fiancé again, Tegan set her bags down on the boardwalk and opened the door. The tinkle of a little bell greeted her as she stepped inside, and the heads of half a dozen patrons turned toward her. After looking her over and deciding that she was a stranger, they gave off faint but welcoming nods and then went back to their sweet rolls and coffee.

“May I help you?” came Jimmy’s voice just before he stepped up behind the counter.

When he came into view, Tegan’s breath caught as it had at the depot. She’d always thought of Jimmy as a fine-looking lover, but he’d somehow changed from babyfaced boy to a very handsome young man.

“I certainly hope you can help me,” Tegan said spiritedly, joining him behind the counter. “I’m looking for my fiancé, who was supposed to meet me at the train. Have you seen him?”

Jimmy’s face got kind of tense and waxy, and his eyes were round. “T-tegan.”

“You may have forgotten to meet me,” she said rather coyly, “But at least you haven’t forgotten my name.”

“No, of course not.” He glanced at his patrons, noting that they were all preoccupied with their sweets, and then took her by the elbow. “Let’s go where we can talk.”

After leading Tegan back to the kitchen, Jimmy stepped away from her. He didn’t seem interested in apologies or greetings. In fact, he almost looked stern as he asked. “Didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“V-voicemail?” Tegan remembered that her phone got switched with Ted who is in the Himalayas at this moment. “I-I didn’t,” was all she could muster.

Jimmy muttered an oath she’d never heard him use before and pounded his fist against his forehead.


	3. The Bakery

“What was it that you said in the voicemail?” Tegan asked trying to sound calm.

“Ah.” Jimmy glanced around the kitchen looking anything but her. “I called about asking you not to come here.”

 Trickle of foreboding inched up her spine, but Tegan shrugged it off and forged ahead. “Why shouldn’t I have come? The bakery is open, you seem to be drawing customers, and even though I thought I was going to do the decorating, I see you’ve managed that as well.”

“Yes, but things have changed.” He paused to tug on his collar.

Working around his odd behavior, Tegan stepped up close and angled her cheek. “Things can’t have changed too much. Aren’t you at least going to kiss me?”

Jimmy leaned toward her, looking as if he was going to deliver a quick one on her cheek, but then the little bell inside the restaurant rang he quickly jerked away.

“I’ve got to tend to business,” he said. “Wait right here. When I get back we must have a serious discussion.”

Refusing to ponder that or any of the odd things Jimmy had said, Tegan took a look around the kitchen as he went on his way. Again impressed with all he’d accomplished alone, she noticed right off how clean and orderly he kept the working area. All of the spices were lined up on the counter, alphabetically, no less. Barrels of flour and sugar were stacked below this counter with nary a trace of their contents dusting the floor, and even the ovens and cooktops sparkled as if they’d never been used. Belying that idea was the heavenly scent of something sweet baking in one of the two huge ovens. He also had a small machine that goes with a fryer. Tegan closed her eyes and breathed in, identifying the aroma as Jimmy’s Green Tea Doughnuts. Her mouth was watering at the thought of sinking her teeth into one of those scrumptious goods when the back door suddenly opened.

Tegan started as a young woman stepped into the room, and then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “The customer entrance is around front. This is the kitchen.”

The woman was a pretty thing with a mature demeanor that made Tegan thought of her as older by five years.

She plopped the packages she was carrying on the counter and haughtily said, “I know this is the kitchen. I work at the bakery. What the hell are you doing back here?”

Stunned, Tegan couldn’t think what to say. She stood there quietly watching as the woman began unloading the bags and storing them in the cupboards above the counter. She was shorter than her and she wore a vintage pink blouse and a long flowery skirt. Her hair was brown almost same as Jimmy’s but darker. She looks like the personification of pastel aesthetic from tumblr.

Thinking of her dusty red shirt and disheveled hair, Tegan figured she must look decidedly drab next to this confection in pink. Raising her chin, Tegan asked, “How long have you been working here?”

“Oh,” she said and turned her head to Tegan, “Since Jimmy opened the place, almost two weeks now.”

After pushing the rest of her purchases aside, the girl gave Tegan her undivided attention. “I don’t think you ever told me why you’re here. Who are you anyways?”

Looking into the woman’s big brown eyes, she was proud to say, “I’m Tegan Quin, from Vancouver. I’m Jimmy’s fiancée.”

“You must be thinking about a different Jimmy, honey.” She slammed her hands to her hips. “The Jimmy that owns this bakery happens to be my fiancé.”

Tegan’s jaw dropped and she staggered back a step. “I’m sorry?”

Undaunted, the girl advanced, swaggering in the way of like a hotshot. She took a fist in Tegan’s face as she said, “You’re making a mighty big mistake. Jimmy’s mine, and if you don’t get out of here right now, I’m gonna have to call the police for breaking and entering.”

Her face hot, her mind numb, Tegan just stood there listening, not really hearing, following the shape of Jenny’s rosy lips as she formed the words and wondering which one of them had gone crazy.

“Now then,” Tegan heard jimmy say as he came into the room. “As I was trying to explain-oh, Jenny, you’re back.”

“And none too soon,” she said indignantly. “We’re going to have to start locking the back door to keep riffraff, like this beggarwoman from getting in.”

Tegan thought about objecting to being discussed in such a term, but then remembered her dusty garb. Ignoring the remark, she turned to Jimmy, beseeching him. “What is she talking about? Who is she?”

Jimmy tugged at his shirt collar. “I, ah take it you two have met?”

“Not exactly. She did say that she’s your fiancée, however. Can you explain this to me?”

He pressed his lips together making them flatter than his delicate griddle cakes. “B-because I’m afraid that it’s true.”

“Afraid?” said the girl, hands still planted to her hips. “That doesn’t sound like the man who’s been so fired crazy to marry up with me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Muffin. What we have here is a little misunderstanding.”

 _Muffin? Misunderstanding?_ Her head still spinning, anger growing hot in her breast, Tegan glared at Jimmy as she said, “Don’t you think you should have gotten rid of your first fiancée before taking on another?”

Looking like a man caught between a bear and a mountain lion, Jimmy glanced from her to the girl. Settling his gaze back on Tegan, he said, “I thought I’d done that very thing. I explained all this, about with Jenny that is, in the voicemail-“

“Right,” Tegan cut in. “The one that I didn’t hear about.”

He shrugged, looking sheepish now.

“Wait a minute,” Jenny said, stepping between Jimmy and Tegan. “She’s telling the truth? She really is your fiancée?”

“Was, Muffin. I try to tell her about us but for some reason she didn’t get it.”

“My brother got my phone.”

“Right.”

“And why didn’t you tell me about her?” Jenny demanded, practically hovering over Jimmy. “Don’t you think I have a right to know if some bitch you left behind is going to come chasing after you?”

Sickened by the truth, by the sight of the two of the arguing about her as if she wasn’t even there, Tegan raised her chin and sniffed the air.

“Your doughnuts are burning, Jimmy,” she said dully. “Better tend to them. I’ll let myself out.”

She never knew how she got her leaden feet to moving, but somehow Tegan managed to force herself through the back door and slam it shut behind her. She stumbled up the alley and then collapsed against the building before she reached the street.


	4. Good Spirits

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest hurt, sharp stabbing pains that jabbed her soft breast like pins shoved into a cushion. Stranger still, the entire world around her had gone curiously silent, the only sound a tiny buzz inside her head. And then she heard something new, a cracking noise, like stepping on the edge of a lake that hadn’t quite frozen over. She wondered numbly if the sound was her own heart shattering.

She stood there a while longer, Tegan didn’t know for how long, and tried desperately to put the pieces back together again. Gradually she began to hear the sounds of the town; the cars honking, the group of female teenagers chatting about a famous pop star, a guy flipping yesterday’s newspaper, the taptapping sounds of a pet dog, and a boy laughing as he flipped his skateboard with grace and landed perfectly on the cemented ground.

What was she to do? Where would she go? Tegan didn’t have the faintest idea. She only knew that she had to leave the area, and now. If she didn’t, she’d probably start crying. If that happened, Jimmy might open the door to check on her and see her in tears, and then her humiliation would be complete. With nothing but escape in mind, she headed up the boardwalk away from the bakery and the depot.

Taking stock of her situation as she moved along. Tegan figured she had about enough money for a day’s worth. Hardly enough for a train ticket back home.

Consumed by her problem, Tegan continued up the street. She needed a hotel room for the night and a good meal. Thinking that her money wouldn’t take her very far in the venture either, she suddenly remembered what the cowboy had said after his bull had nearly killed her. She’d pay for the damages. All she had to do was find this Sara Clement again, collect what was due her, and then she’d at least have the night to get some rest and figure out what to do next.

She strolled through town, Tegan tried to remember the unusual name of the establishment where Sara could be found, but it simply wouldn’t come to her. She’d just about given up when she realized that she’d reached the police station. Remembering Sara’s directions, if not the name of her establishment, she glanced across the street and saw an ornate white building with a false steeple perched on the roof. An arch made of rainbow-colored glass framed the single white door, and above the fancy arch were the words OH MY DARLING. It looks like a bar with the furnishings of a western saloon.

Heart hammering in her throat, Tegan swallowed hard, and took a deep breath.

-

Sara Clement had a taste for Irish whiskey, small chocolate bars, and brunettes. At the moment she was sitting at her usual table in the bar and indulging her sweet tooth by stirring three of his favorite chocolate drops into her coffee.

Sara surveyed her kingdom, Oh My Darling is not just a bar it’s also a mini casino complete with billiard tables and pinball machines.  Noting that while all was quiet for now, tonight promised to be the kind of affair to keep the cash register ringing for hours. She’d gone down to the depot when the train arrived and tacked flyers to the walls announcing tonight’s big poker tournament. Even now passengers would be heading this way, stopping as they made the trek at establishments in the populated part of Sainthood Village. Eventually the more prosperous of those who visit would venture into Oh My Darling’s, where she would welcome them with open arms.

For now, it was just Sara; Emily Storey, who pretty much ran the bar for her; her gambling manager, Jack Antonoff, known as Black Jack thanks to his penchant for dealing himself aces and face cards on a regular basis; and Little Mickey, the kid who mopped the floors each morning.

As she watched Black Jack arranging the tables for tonight’s tournament, Sara heard an unusual sound. Turning toward Emy, who was stacking bottles behind the bar, she asked, “Are you banging something around back there?”

Emy cocked her head. “I didn’t hear nothing.”

Again came the sound, and this time Sara recognized that it came from the opposite direction. The front door. This time a little louder

Laughing to herself, Sara climbed out of her chair and went to open the door. She immediately recognized the poor gal who’d nearly been run down at the train depot. She’d remember that cute face, if nothing else.

“You don’t have to knock on this door,” she said, stepping aside. “Come on in. Everyone is welcome here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Tegan’s gaze slid to the boardwalk, where it remained. “I came about my ruined stuff.”

“Ah, yes, but first please come in out of the sun,” Sara shot her that same smile again that made Tegan double checked her sexuality.

Tegan looked up at her, her own brown eyes big and mesmerized.

Sara led her into the bar and guided Tegan over to her table. After pulling out a chair for her, Sara took her usual seat and said, “Can I offer you something to drink, some coffee, perhaps?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I just want to settle the bill for my bags.” She took her stuff and laid it on the table. “If I understood your friend correctly,” she went on to say, “he promised that you would pay for the damages.”

“That’s correct.” Sara stirred her coffee, the heavenly scent of chocolate wafting up through the steam. “How much do I owe you?”

Tegan cleared her throat. “Ah, thousand dollars?”

Sara had just taken a sip of coffee. She choked on it, nearly strangling she said, “What? I must have heard you wrong, Miss, er. . .”

“Tegan Quin.”

Again Sara glanced at the bag. It was trampled upon by heavy hooves, tattered here and there. Regarding Tegan’s shirt, still mottled with dusty residue, Sara figured her entire ensemble bags and all, couldn’t be worth more than a hundred dollars.

“Miss Quin,” she said, eyeing the younger woman suspiciously, “I’m not a person who spends a lot of time buying bags but I can’t believe that anyone would give more than, say, fifty dollars for yours. That is what you meant to say, isn’t it? Fifty dollars, hmm?”

This time Sara had already swallowed her sip of coffee. The urge to choke was no less strong. “No, it would not, but I must say, you’ve got guts. Most folks who try to rob me come at it straightforward, waving a gun in my face.”

Sara didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect after that statement-indignation, at least-but she surprised her. Tegan’s eyes rolled to a close and then she took a deep breath. Her hands, still clasped in her lap, were bound together so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m trying to rob you,” she said breathlessly. “It’s just that I’m desperate for money, and I though. . . well, I don’t know what I thought.”

Sara didn’t know what think either. Except that she didn’t strike her as the criminal sort. “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” she suggested softly. “Did someone stole your money? By the way, did you find your friend at the bakery?”

“No, nobody stole my money and also, no, he’s not exactly my friend,” she said, opening her eyes. They were moist now, all warm and shiny like the melting chocolate floating in Sara’s coffee.

“If not your friend, then what?” Sara asked.

“Jimmy Bonnet and I were to get wed when I got to town,” she explained, her voice cracking. “He was surprised I showed up and said that he sent me a call telling me not to come to Sainthood Village, but unfortunately never got to me, and then he introduced me to a girl and she claimed that she was Jimmy’s fiancée, and he didn’t state otherwise. Now I’m here.”

“I see. . . I think.”

“Jimmy said her name was Jenny, or something silly like that, and then he called her Muffin. Could you believe that?”

“Ah, yeah, I know her,” Sara commented. “The delectable Jenny Byrnes.” Tegan Quin gave her a scowl that would curl paint. Wisely moving ahead, Sara surmised, “And now you’re trying to gather enough money for a ticket back home?”

Tegan nodded miserably.

“It seems to me that Jimmy ought to give you a train fare back to your hometown. That’s the least he could do.”

“I can’t. I was humiliated. I can’t face him, not now or ever.”

Tears were running down her cheeks, unchecked. Sara had an idea that Tegan wasn’t even aware she was crying. Looking over her shoulder, Sara called to Emy, “A bottle of my personal stock, please and two snifters.”

After Emy brought the whiskey and glasses, Sara poured a measure into a snifter and pushed it in front of Tegan. Then she laid her handkerchief beside it. “Here,” she said. “Dry your eyes and take a sip of this. It will make you feel better.”

Feel better? Until she looked down at the table and saw the linen she’d left for her, Tegan hadn’t realized that she’d been crying. She snatched up the handkerchief, dabbed her cheeks and eyes, and then glanced over at the helpful Miss Sara Clement. As she stared back at Tegan in all her dishevelment, again she was reminded of what Jimmy must have been as he told her about his new love. A miserable, scorned woman wearing a soiled shirt and crushed bags. Something to be pitied and discarded, the unwanted runt of the litter.

Tegan sighed heavily and dropped her face into her hands.

“Please,” Sara said, “take a sip of your whiskey. It will help.”

She peered out from between her fingers. “Thank you, but no. I never touch spirits.”

“Well, just think of it as medicine.”

Tegan wasn’t up to arguing, and by then she would have swilled the whiskey if there was a change it might make her feel better, she lifted the snifter and brought it to her lips. She took a tentative sip, and then a larger swallow. The whiskey warmed its way down her throat, heating her to her toes. In moments she could feel the tension draining from her shoulders.

 


	5. A Generous Offer

“Thank you, Miss Clement. I guess I do feel better.”

“Just call me Sara.”

“Thank you, Sara.” Tegan pushed her chair back from the table. “I think I’ve inconvenienced you enough for one day. If you’ll just give me a hundred dollars, I’ll be on my way.”

Instead of paying her, Sara sat back in her chair and studied Tegan, her index finger curled over her lips.

Tegan could see that Sara’s hair was short and wavy at the side. Her gaze went to Sara’s ear, where more wavy curls fought for position on the side. Then Sara spoke again, startling Tegan so, she almost knocked over her drink.

“The hundred dollars is yours, of course,” she said. “I’m afraid that won’t get you very far, though. Even if you had the fare for the train, you also needed to board a plane. What will you do then?”

Tegan shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

Keeping a sharp eye on her, Sara fell silent. She drummed her fingers against the table, obviously thinking something over, and then shifted in her chair and took a sip of whiskey.

Clearing her throat, she surprised Tegan by suggesting, “I don’t often do this sort of thing for people I don’t know, but you strike me as an honest woman. I’d be happy to lend you the money for the train and plane fare, and even room and board, if necessary. Once you get back home, you can pay me back when you can.”

Stunned by the generous offer, Tegan almost accepted it on the spot. All she’d been able to think about since she left the bakery was running away, as far away as she could get from Jimmy Bonnet and his childlike piece of confection. Now that her goal seemed within reach, it suddenly gave her a pause. The child within was eager to accept, to run back home and into the arms of her family. It would be so easy.

Her family would welcome her back as if she’d never left. They would still love her too, but she knew what they would be thinking: Poor Tegan, the dreamer who never quite did things right, the girl who couldn’t get out of her own way. She’d never truly been able to master the art of cooking, loathed sewing much the dismay of her grandmother a great seamstress who was once the head of their family business, God bless her soul. And whenever she was assigned to a menial task she just messes it up. Now this. She hadn’t even managed to hang to her fiancé long enough to speak her own wedding vows. If she went home, she would still be poor Tegan, the dreamer who’d tried her hand at just about everything expected of a woman at twenty-four but had never mastered anything, not even the art of love. How could she go back to Vancouver a failure again? She couldn’t go yet, at least not until she’d done everything in her power to get back Jimmy.

Settled on that much, Tegan said, “I’m very touched by your generous offer, but I simply cannot accept money from a person I barely know.”

“I suppose that’s understandable.” Sara paused, thinking something over, and then suggested, “Would it be more acceptable if you were to earn the money I’m offering?”

 

“Earn it?” This was more startling than her first offer. “How would I do that?”

Sara glanced around the casino bar. “As I believe I already mentioned, Oh My Darling is a fine establishment, one that our major populace and the city councilors visit from time to time. I could use some help, especially during night hours, and I think you might be well suited for the job. Interested?”

Horrified, Tegan’s thoughts went here and there. “You want me to sell myself to your customers?”

Sara laughed at the notion that she would do that to her. “Absolutely not. I host poker tournaments and other gaming events, and when my customers are busy playing cards, they aren’t apt to want to leave their stakes unattended. I just need you to wander around, making sure everyone has a drink and serving those who don’t.”

Tegan’s first impulse was to reject the offer out of hand. Knowing her resources were limited-all right, non-existent- she gave herself a moment to look around the bar. Although she’d never before stepped inside such a place, it wasn’t nearly as wicked or depraved as she’d assumed. The air was breathable; redolent with the lingering odor of cigarette smoke and whiskey, but tempered with the inviting aroma of fresh-popped corn. Thanks to two large sparkling chandeliers, the lighting was muted and classy, not murky, and she was able to take more than a cursory look around.

The walls were papered in ruby red velvet and dotted with pictures of past mayors, boxing champions, and a few women Tegan didn’t recognize. A single billiard table graced the area to the left, pinballs to the far side, a baccarat table to the right, a single oblong poker board at the center and several tables and chairs filled the remaining space. A man arranging decks of cards sat at one of these tables. Behind him, wielding a mop as tall as the top of his head, a small teenage boy washed away the remnants of the night before. In the opposite corner, partitioned from the rest of the business, a vending machine and a newspaper and magazine stand were laid out for sale and inspection.  A piano sat quiet to the side of the little enclosure.

Tegan’s gaze went to the polished walnut bar that filled the back of the establishment. Against the wall behind this counter were a few shelves displaying sample bottle of wine along with an assortment of spirits, but the thing that caught her eye was the woman behind the bar. Her hair, a cut longer than Sara’s. Her white short sleeved shirt unbuttoned down to her cleavage emphasizing the fullness of her bosom.

Tegan’s eyes darted to Sara and she blurted out, “If I take this job, am I expected to dress like her?”

“No,” Sara assured her. “Emy is one of a kind. You can dress in your own clothing as long as it’s something a little less severe than what you are wearing now. Maybe Emy can help you figure out what to wear if you decide to take the job. Well?”

Sara raised her eyebrows, the question hanging there in her expression, but Tegan wasn’t ready with an answer. Would her parents allowed her to consider taking such a job? She rather doubted it, and yet at the thought of earning her own keep, her pulse surged with the kind of excitement she hadn’t experienced since she boarded the airplane and train away from home. If she planned on staying in Sainthood a while, and Tegan was now determined to do just that, she had little choice.

Again regarding Sara Clement, she considered the fact that she owned a gambling establishment and that she was probably as slick as a well-seasoned skillet. Tegan’d never known a person such as this, and yet Sara had kind sad eyes. She decided to trust her.

“I think I’d like to give it a try,” Tegan declared. “When would you like me to start?”

“How about this afternoon? That way I can show you round and explain what’s expected of you before the crowd gets too big. In the meantime, have you given any thought to where you’ll be staying?”

“Any space I could rent will do. Can you tell me which one is the cheapest?”

“I could,” Sara said with a grin that pulled one corner of her mouth, “but I doubt you’d be pleased with the other guests. Tell you what- why don’t you let me go speak to the manager at my hotel? I’m sure I can convince him to offer you a room at a very reasonable price.

“Oh, my god.” Tegan slapped her palms against her cheeks thinking about how rich Sara must be.

“By the way, where did you put the rest of your luggage?”Sara distracted her. “I thought you were carrying another bag.”    

 “I-ah,” Tegan tried to remember. “I think I left it.”

“Where?”

“In front of the bakery.”  Tegan touched her forehead for an impending headache.

Sara held back a chuckle. “Of all places.”

“I can’t go back there, not now, not yet.”

“Well, you don’t have to.” Sara waved her arm high overhead. “Hey, Mickey. Would you come here a minute?”

The teenage boy propped his mop against the wall and hurried over to the table. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“My dear friend, Tegan, left her two bags sitting in front of the baker. Would you mind getting them and bringing them to my hotel?” Sara dropped a couple of one dollar bills into the boy’s palm. “I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Yes, ma’am, and thanks.” With that, the young man took off at a run.

Sara pushed away from the table and got to her feet. Then she said, “Why don’t you stay here and enjoy your whiskey while I make the arrangements? I shouldn’t be long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to help you visualize what they look like:  
> Tegan from If it was You Era meets Sara from Sainthood era.


	6. Sister

It wasn’t until some thirty minutes later as Sara was heading back to the casino bar that she began to question her sanity. Hadn’t she learned her lesson from Montreal? She always had an eye for ladies—the more elusive, the better—but the women who really got to her were damsels in distress. She simply couldn’t resist lending a helping hand; sometimes two, if the women in question were so inclined. Unfortunately, and more often than not, those efforts usually wound up costing her a goodly share of her money, occasionally a piece of her heart and, in Montreal, her self-respect, among other things.

This time she went out of her way to consider Tegan’s needs, not her own. Thinking of Tegan and her glaring innocence, she foolishly told the hotel manager that she wanted a room close to her so she could keep an eye on her ‘sister’. Claiming Tegan as kin seemed like a good idea at the time, but it hadn’t occurred to Sara that she would be given the small room connecting to her, which was the finest room the hotel had to offer and was actually part of the suite. She’d only meant to make her feel more secure, especially considering the parade of hotel guests she would encounter. At least that’s what Sara told herself, even though she had to admit that she found Tegan Quin attractive.

Resigned to her fate, whatever that might be, Sara left the hotel, strolled into the bar, and found Tegan sitting right where she left her. Instead of sobbing her handkerchief, she had her nose buried in a newspaper. Sara, a silent partner of the hotel also owned a piece of the Sainthood Tribune, a daily newspaper. She noted sourly that Tegan was reading the Superclose Society Weekly or SCS Weekly, the rival newspaper.

“Catching up on the local gossip?” Sara asked as she approached.

Tegan looked up from the paper. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind. I was careful not to make any extra creases. I don’t think anyone can tell it’s been read if I put it back on the rack.”

Sara dropped into the chair next to hers. “Keep it. My employees are entitled to free newspapers.”

“Thank you. May I take one of the other papers, too?”

“Help yourself. I’m sure you’ll find it far more informative.”

 A deeply dimpled smile lit up her features, erasing the image of the sullen-faced girl who’d been hesitant to come into the bar. Sara impulsively licked her lips. Shaking off the urge to kiss Tegan, to learn firsthand if she tasted as sweet as she looked, she abruptly turned to the indelicate subject of her lodging situation.

“I got you a very nice room,” Sara said more seductively than she’d intended. “It’s only fif-twenty-five dollars a day, and that includes a small breakfast each morning.”

The smile remained, growing ever more radiant. “That sounds wonderful. I should be able to earn that much each day, shouldn’t I?”

Sara nodded. “And with enough left over to save up for that fare home. The thing is, your room is part of a suite that leads to my room.”

“O-kay,” Tegan quietly gulped.

Sara quickly added, “I assure you that your privacy won’t be an issue. There are connecting doors, each with its own lock. I thought you’d feel more comfortable knowing help was just a knock away.”

Tegan considered this a moment. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be just fine. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

“Good.” Sara pushed out of her chair. “Now I’ve got to get to work. The hotel is the Night Watch, across the street and three doors east. Just tell the clerk that you’re my sister and he’ll give you a key to the room.”

“Your sister?” Tegan gave her a baffled look.

The confusion in her dark eyes confirmed that Sara had probably made an error in judgment. Too late to back out now, Sara shrugged and said, “Half-sister, actually, because our names are different. I thought it might help to keep you safe from the unwanted attentions of the other hotel guests. Um, kind of like a protection since I bear a little influence in this town.” 

“In that case, I am again at your debt.” Rising from her chair, the newspaper clutched to her bosom, Tegan asked, “What time do you want me to return?”

“How about four o’clock? And don’t forget to dress differently, as if you’re going to party.” Sara looked her over, adding, “And do something about your hair. Let it loose.”

If Tegan was insulted, it didn’t show. She gave her another dazzling smile and said, “Anything else, sister?”

“Hmm,” Sara tried to think. “Your name.”

 “Do you also want me to change my name?”

“No, I think it’s lovely and very unique. Tegan as is would suffice.”

Tegan blushed at the unexpected praise of her name. “Thank you.”

“See you at four, Tegan.”

Sara watched as the other woman waltzed out the door, content in the knowledge that so far she’d been of some help to the young woman. How long that feeling would last was anyone’s guess. She just hoped this wouldn't turn out the way things did in Montreal—with her packing up and leaving town.


	7. Assistant Editor

Too excited to rest, buoyed by all the good that had come from her earlier humiliation, Tegan opted to take a walk around town. Instead of heading in the direction of the hotel, she started toward the depot, morbidly drawn to the building that housed Jimmy’s Bakery. She was doggedly determined to stay on the opposite side of the street but found herself hoping as she passed by that she might catch a glimpse of Jimmy looking for her, calling her name, begging her forgiveness.

Of course none of that happened. Head held high, but spirits low, Tegan continued on down the boardwalk until she came to an alley. She’d pretty much decided to turn around and go to the Night Watch hotel when she noticed an odd sign on the large, barnlike structure directly ahead. On the plaque it read Superclose Society Weekly. The idea of housing a newspaper press at the heart of the town drew Tegan’s curiosity, but not nearly as much as the small, hand-lettered sign in the window that read, HELP WANTED, FEMALES ONLY. INQUIRE WITHIN.

The one thing Tegan had always been good at was reading and writing. She read everything she could get her hands on from books to newspapers, and other seemingly insignificant pieces of printed material. She didn’t delude herself into thinking that she might qualify for the job offered here but felt drawn to the building anyway.

The first thing to hit her when she stepped inside was the fresh oily scent of the printing press and the sound of the continuous rolling of papers back and forth inside a machine. Tegan could not see it but she knew that it was in another room beyond the wall with a metal door. There’s another small room to the left with a varnished maple door, inside she could see the woman from behind a transparent glass window hunched over a desk. She was twirling a loose strand of her blonde hair with one hand and making notes with the other. The metal door opened and a female voice called out.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Tegan turned toward the voice. “I’m here about the newspaper.”

The woman scratched the edge of her nose and knocked loudly on the maple door, “You got a visitor, Liz.”

The other woman’s head popped up from behind the counter. “You don’t have to yell, Rachael. I may not hear good, but I can still see.”

Rachael ignored her remark and opened the door for Tegan. “Come on in Miss.“

“Thank you.”

The woman called Liz climbed out of her chair and lumbered over to the counter.

“Well?” the woman said. “If you’ve got a complaint about the paper or advice for the editor, write it down and stick it in the suggestion box outside the door.”

“Oh, I wasn’t here for that.” Tegan inched closer to the counter, “I think your paper is very good.”

Liz’s face gradually changed to that of a delighted goose. “You applying for the job?”

Caught off guard, she could hardly make her tongue work. “Oh, well. I’m not sure if I’m qualified though.”

The woman reached out and grabbed Tegan’s hands, jamming the rest of her garble in her throat. Then she squinted and said, “You’ve got the right kind of fingers for the job, long and slender.”

“Was that an important requirement?”

“Have you tried editing before, I meant on the computer with photoshop?”

“A little. My younger brother taught me how.”

Now she squinted into Tegan’s face, a direct gaze that brooked no lies, “How are you at reading and writing?”

“Oh, I love to read and I’m told I’m a fair hand at writing.”

“Can you spell?”

“Better than most,” she was proud to say. “I always got one hundred percent on my spelling tests.”

“Then I guess you’re hired.”

Tegan pulled her hands out of the woman’s grasp. “I am?”

“If you want the job, such as it is. Don’t pay much, that’s for sure, and I only need you two days a week, Wednesday and Thursday.” She glanced around her tiny office. “The way things are going and if circulation doesn’t pick up, I may not need you more than next week. Still want the job?”

Tegan had never even allowed herself to dream that she might one day be offered a job at a real, honest-to-goodness newspaper. And this woman wanted to pay her? She’d have taken the job for free.

“I’d love to work here, ma’am. Can I start tomorrow?”

“Hold your horses. First off, what’s your name?”

“Tegan Quin. I came from Vancouver. You can call me Tegan.”

Liz nodded sagely. “I expect this is your first time out in Sainthood village?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” The other woman stuck out a hand and grabbed hold of Tegan’s, and shook it as if she were swinging an axe. “I’m Liz Feldman. You can call me Liz. That pretty fellow in the back is my wife, Rachael.”

Tegan was impressed when she uttered the word wife. Seeing the twinkle in Liz’s eyes, Tegan smiled back.

Then Liz added, “I hope you didn’t come to Sainthood Village looking for a spouse of your own. Rachael is about the best this town has to offer, and it’s taken me a good six years before we tied the knot.”

Talk of spouses took some of the wind out of Tegan’s sails, but she was honestly able to reply, “No, I didn’t come here looking for a spouse.” _I thought I already had one._ “I’m curious about the name of this town. Does it have something to do with religion?”

“You might say that. We used to be called Cypress Village after the trees that grew abundantly here and it’s also the name of the old town mayor, Arnold Cypress. That was fine with everyone until he decided to beat his wife to death. The women especially the nuns got up in arms over that and picketed the City Hall.

“The council didn’t have much choice but to rename the place, aside from kicking the mayor behind the bars. And to remain in good graces with the female populace the male council went along with Sainthood as the new name. After that, women kind of took over the town.”

Tegan couldn’t imagine what she meant by “taking over the town,” but it did remind her of Sara Clement and her owning a lot of big establishments in the area. “Do you know that casino bar near the police station?”

Liz raised one eyebrow. “You a drinker?”

“Oh, goodness, no. Do you I think it’s a good place to hang out though?”

“Well, yes. Was that even a question? Women here love that place. If you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Liz chuckled and whispered as if guarding herself from Rachael’s ears. “If you met the owner. You’ll know what I mean.”

Tegan was about to blurt out Sara’s name and admit to Liz that she knew who she was referring to but decided to keep her mouth shut. It was funny to know that even the married ones are not safe at the sight of the leather cladded vixen.

“Listen,” Liz went on, “now that we’ve got that settled, I’ve got to get to work. I’ll see you on Wednesday morning, not tomorrow, and as my assistant be sure to wear something other than what you have now.” She paused a moment, studying Tegan’s dusty t-shirt. “Well, I guess what you’re wearing will do after you make your way to the laundry.”

Too happy to take offense at the remark, Tegan thanked her new employer again and then went on her way. As she headed for the hotel, she didn’t even realize that she’d passed Jimmy’s Bakery until she was well beyond it. All she could think about was the fact that she’d secured not one but two positions in the same day, one of them a dream job with a newspaper.

Her past sorrow temporarily forgotten, Tegan thought she must be the luckiest girl in the world. 


	8. Working Girl

For the next few hours Tegan’s streak of luck held. When she checked into the hotel, she could hardly believe the luxurious accommodations Sara had arranged for her. The walls were covered with soft green wallpaper sporting vines of ivy woven through fancy gold trellises, and the floor was carpeted in the same mint green. A puffy white coverlet blanketed her soft feather bed, and she had not one but two large dressers. Best of all, a separate room housed her own private water closet complete with privy and a sparkling enameled tub that spouted both hot and cold running water.

This was a far cry from what she had in Vancouver. This setup is more like a palace and she like a princess. Princess Nobody, she thought ruefully, wondering if Jimmy had found accommodations as wonderful as hers. Thoughts of her former fiancé pounded the reality of his deception into her, tearing open an aching wound that left her feeling incredibly weary.

Longing for escape from those painful and dreary thoughts, Tegan took a long, relaxing bath and then stretched out in the puffy coverlet for a quick nap. When she awoke hours later, twilight trickled throughout the room. Knowing it must be well past four, she bolted out of bed, threw on some slacks and a light colored blouse, and hastily tide up her hair in a bun as she hurried toward the casino bar.

Oh My Darling was no longer a sanctuary it had been when Tegan first stepped into the place. The moment she walked through the door, her senses were assailed from every direction. Thanks to the slick-haired man pounding relentlessly on the keyboard, the piano belted out a raucous rendition of Bach’s Minuet in G Manor. All of the tables were filled with gamblers men and women alike, some of them hooting and hollering, others grumbling or cursing their luck. The bar was also hip deep with a surprising number of queer people, some of them demanding the attention of a harried-looking Emy. As she headed that way, Tegan caught sight of Sara making her way from the bar to the tables. She carried a large tray filled with beer mugs, whiskey bottles, and shot glasses.

Tegan waved to her, drawing Sara’s attention, and that was when her luck ran out. The scowl Sara shot Tegan in return sent her back into the corner, where she tried desperately to fade into the newspaper rack.

After Sara delivered the last beer, she headed straight for Tegan, empty tray in hand, “Where have you been?” she snapped. “I told you to be here by four.”

“I’m sorry.” Tegan dropped her gaze to the floor. “I took a nap, but I didn’t realize how tired I was. I just now woke up.”

As she spoke, Sara took note of her appearance. She’d discarded her dusty outfit- a white blouse that buttoned up to her chin and a plain black slacks.

“I thought I told you to dress for a party. You look like a school librarian.” Sara noted the hair bun.

Tegan glanced down at herself, color spotting her cheeks. “I was so late, I put on the first things I grabbed. Do you want me to go back to the hotel and change?”

“No. As you can see, we’re very busy here tonight. I should be at the table with the gamblers, not serving drinks.” She handed Tegan the tray. “Just work your way around the tables and if you see anyone with an empty glass, ask them what they’d like.  Emy will help you figure out the rest. Can you manage?”

Tegan gulped and said, “I’ll do the best I can.”

She looked more than innocent now, vulnerable even, and Sara was gripped by the urge to take her into her arms and tell her to forget the whole damn thing. But she had a business to run, and from what she’d seen a moment earlier, a gambler at table four was enjoying an unusual streak of luck.

Instead of consoling Tegan, she said, “You’d better get busy. We’ve got a very thirsty crowd tonight.”

Assuming she’d given her instructions enough, Sara turned on her heel and headed for table four. As she approached, a gambler who’d lost his five-thousand-dollar stake vacated his chair and headed for the front door. Sara was happy to take the man’s spot, where she could easily observe the stranger across from her. She tossed her money on the table and the volunteer dealer, Chris Walla, president of Commerce Bank, replaced the bills with five-thousand-dollars’ worth of poker chips.

As she waited for the cards to be dealt, Sara glanced toward the bar to check on Tegan. She was slowly making her way toward table one, both hands clenched on the outer edges of the tray she carried. There were only two mugs of beer on the tray, but she moved as if she carried two sweaty sticks of dynamite, ready to blow at any minute. Intent on her precious cargo, she failed to negotiate the leg of a gambler who was sprawled out in his chair.

Tegan and her tray abruptly disappeared.

Sara pushed back in her chair, thinking of going to her aid, but then Tegan popped up again, empty mugs in one hand, the dripping tray in the other. Sara closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, wondering what in hell she’d gotten herself into. It would probably be cheaper to send Tegan back to the hotel and take over the waitressing duties herself.

At the bar, Tegan squeeze the excess beer out of her blouse as Emy refilled the mugs, “Do you think I have to pay for those beers?” she asked when the woman returned.

“Not this time, honey.” Emy positioned the mugs on the tray. “Let me give you a little advice so it doesn’t happen again. You’re gonna have to learn to carry a lot more than two beers at a time, so listen up and listen good. Don’t watch the liquid else you’ll have it slopping all over the place. Also, as you might have noticed, you can’t see where you’re going if you’re watching the beer.”

“But what if it spills while I’m walking?”

“A little slop never hurt anyone, but dumping perfectly good beers on the floor isn’t too smart. Just pay attention to where you’re going and try not to think about what’s on the tray. Now get a move on or you’ll never get all those thirsty customers served.”

Head down, eyes on the path before her, Tegan slowly made her way to the table. This time she made it. As she carefully unloaded the drinks, the other gamblers at the table began shouting at her.

 A woman in heavy dark make up turned to her. “Hey, miss, how about a bottle of whiskey and three glasses?”

“And three more beers, sweetheart,” a drag queen hollered at her back.

Trying to remember the order, she hurried back to the bar, distracted by the shouts of gamblers at other tables. By the time she’d served all seven table, her bun had come loose and her hair hung down in all manner of disarray. Some of those strands were damp with beer, as was her slacks and several parts of her blouse. Her feet hurt and her legs felt rubbery, but she gamely started in all over again, and heading for table one.

As she approached, Tegan noticed that a new player had joined the game there. Although dressed like a man in jeans and a plaid shirt, the new gambler couldn’t hide her charms and was definitely a woman. Swallowing her surprise, Tegan glimpsed beneath her cap that covered most of her face and recognized her familiar features. It’s Jenny Byrnes, Jimmy’s new fiancée.


	9. Twins

Tegan felt herself gravitating towards Jenny, almost against her will. When she was standing beside her, her hand developed a mind on its own. She watched as her fingers took a full beer from the tray, felt her wrist go limp, and then heard the sound of liquid splashing the other woman.

As beer rained down on her cap, spilling over the brim into her lap, Jenny shrieked and jumped to her feet. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

Terrified of the woman’s wrath, not at all clear about what had just happened, Tegan set the tray on the table and backed away.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” Jenny said, advancing. “You, klutz!

Something boiled up in Tegan, an anger she could taste, like sour pickles dipped in rust, “Leave him alone,” she said, her teeth clenched. “He isn’t yours to take.”

Jenny reared back at this, her exquisite features rumpled in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? He, who?”

Tegan laughed out loud, a crazy sound. “You know exactly you, you who rhymes with the word witch.”

“What?” Jenny drew back her fist and aim at Tegan’s chin. Before she could fire, Sara Clement stepped between the two forces of nature.

“What seems to be the problem, ladies?” she asked Jenny.

Jenny curled her upper lip. “Your hostess here went and dumped beer on my head.”

Sara glanced from her to Tegan, one eyebrow raised high.

“It was an accident,” Tegan said, not entirely a lie. “The mug just kind of fell out of my hand. Besides,” she added, hand on hips, “shouldn’t she be down at the bakery icing Jimmy’s cakes instead of gambling here?”

Sara rubbed her nape, chuckling under her breath. “I think I know what happened here. Tegan, meet Lindsey Byrnes, Jenny’s twin sister.”

Good thing she wasn’t holding a tray full of beer. She’d have dropped it. “Twins?”

“We might be born the same day,” Lindsey cut in, “but that’s the only resemblance between me and that airhead sister of mine.”

Maybe to her way of thinking, but as far as Tegan could see, Lindsey was identical to her sister, save for the clothing and coarse demeanor. Tegan glanced at Lindsey’s dripping cap and stained jeans, her heart sinking when she realized what she’d done. She had no right to blame Lindsey or her rough-hewn sister for what had happened with Jimmy. Tegan didn’t know exactly how or why she’d lost him.

Maybe she should have written to him more often after he left, daily perhaps. Or maybe it was something else altogether. Tegan blushed, ashamed to have such thoughts, but had them anyway.

Maybe Jimmy would still be hers if she’d let him touch her breasts the way he wanted to their last night together. Maybe she should have given herself to him, become his lover in every sense of the word. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She was drowning in maybes.

“Are you all right?” she heard Sara say.

Tegan blinked and shook herself back into the present. “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

She glanced over Sara’s shoulder and saw to her surprise that Lindsey was back in her chair, studying her cards. Head down, Tegan approached her and said, “I’m terribly sorry about the beer. I honestly don’t know what happened.”

“Forget it,” Lindsey said without looking up.

Again Sara intervened. “I’m sure Tegan will be happy to get you another, and of course it’s on the house.”

Now Lindsey did look up, but it was only to rest an appreciative and rather dreamy-eyed gaze on Sara. “Thanks, Sara. I appreciate it.”

Grumbling to herself although she couldn’t say why, Tegan delivered the rest of the drinks left on her tray and then went off to refill Lindsey’s mug.


	10. Advice

The rest of the night went by in a blur of beer, margarita, whiskey, and cigarette smoke. Tegan spilled a few more drinks, accidentally dousing a man’s cigarette once, and mixed up several orders, but as far as she could tell, she’d managed to keep most of the customers happy. She was standing at the bar waiting for her last order to be filled, seriously wondering if she had the energy left to make it to table five, when Sara approached.

“You look tired,” she said. “We’re down to two tables of winners, so if you want to, I think you can go back to the hotel now.”

If she wanted to? Tegan thought about dropping to her knees and kissing Sara’s leather shoes, but she was fairly certain she’d never get up again. “Thank you,” she said instead. “I’d love to go to my room now, assuming I’m still able to walk that far.”

Sara laughed as Emy came up with a tray full of drinks. Focusing on the bartender, Sara said, “Would you mind taking those to table five? I’m going to walk Tegan to the hotel.”

“Sure, Sara. No problem.” That was what Emy said, but her expression didn’t agree. When she took her adoring gaze from Sara and dropped it on Tegan, it became narrow and intense, like poison-tipped arrow. “Tough night, huh, kid?”

Tough wasn’t the half of it. Tegan’s feet had gone way beyond merely aching, and she noticed if she stood still for too long—which didn’t happen much—her legs would shake uncontrollably.

Using a precious drop of her waning energy reserves, she forced a smile and said, “Very tough. See you tomorrow.”

Tegan dragged along rather than walked as Sara escorted her back to the hotel. She assumed Sara’d leave her in the lobby, but she insisted on accompanying her all the way to her room. When they came to her door, Sara stood there facing Tegan, one hand on the jamb behind her head.

Sara was close, not touching any part of her, and yet Tegan could almost feel the older woman’s body pressing against hers, the sense that Sara’s sweet scent might actually seep into her pores. Sara reached out with her free hand then, and brushed away a beer-soaked strand of hair that had glued itself to her cheek. Tegan shivered, shaking off a spasm that tingled up her spine.

“You must be cold and exhausted,” Sara said, her voice a syrupy velvet fog. “It wasn’t fair of me to throw you into a new job on a very busy event. I’m sorry if I haven’t been as much help as you’d figured on.”

“What are you saying?” Tegan protested. “God knows where I’d be now if you hadn’t offered to put me to work.”

“I promise that tomorrow will be a lot easier.” Sara’s gaze bore into hers, occasionally flickering to Tegan’s lips, and then she took a deep breath. “Is there anything else I can do before you turn in?”

“Are you offering more help?” Tegan asked, laughing for no particular reason.

“Sure, if there’s something else I can help with. I owe you more than your wages for what you went through tonight. You did a fine job for your first try.”

Tegan thought of the spilled drinks and general chaos she’d cause at the casino bar. She knew darn well that she hadn’t performed well but loved the idea that Sara Clement, her boss, was trying to make her feel better.

Following that thought, she said, “Actually, there is something you might be able to help me with.”

“Fire away.”

Acutely aware that she need only lean forward to touch Sara’s leather jacket, she ventured, “I was just wondering if you might know the best way to go about getting Jimmy back. After tonight with Lindsey, I’m pretty sure that dumping beer on his head won’t work.”

Sara’s eyes held Tegan’s a moment longer but then slid closed like steel doors. She took her hand from the jamb and stepped back. “I’m not sure I can help you there,” she said. “I don’t know Jimmy all that well.”

Tegan felt the sudden rift between them, a cold draft. Loathe to let Sara go this way, she persisted. “Then you can’t offer any kind of advice?”

Sara shrugged. “I wouldn’t go chasing after him, begging him to take you back, if that’s what you mean by advice.”

“But if I ignore him completely, won’t he just forget all about me? You know, out of sight, out of mind?”

“Probably,” Sara agreed. “I didn’t mean don’t see him. It’s just that when you do, I think it would be best if you pretend that all is well, that you’re getting along better without him.”

Tegan considered this, and a myriad of possibilities bloomed in her mind. “I see what you mean. Make him think I don’t want him back, right?”

“Something like that, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work out.”

“Oh, Miss Clement, I would never blame you for anything. You’ve been more than helpful.” She impulsively reached out and touched her hand. “You’ve been very kind.”

Sara clasped at Tegan’s hand and gave her a sincere smile. “I’d better say good night. See you tomorrow, and you don’t have to come in until around five or so.” Before she released Tegan’s hold she added, “… and please just call me Sara.”

“Very well then. Good night, Sara.”

 


	11. A New Column

It was almost noon when Tegan finally dragged her aching body out of bed. She smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Indulging herself in a way she never had before, she took a second bath in many days. She let her hair down and soaked deep in the tub. Hoping to dress more to Sara’s liking Tegan chose a white striped shirt coupled with a purple neckerchief and black pants.

Ready to face the day, and, even more surprising Jimmy, Tegan downed a breakfast of ham, flapjacks, and scrambled eggs and then took to the boardwalk. She headed straight for Jimmy’s Bakery. This time when the little bell announced her arrival, Tegan saw that Jimmy was already standing behind the counter. Taking a deep breath, she headed for him, ignoring curious glances of the few patrons.

“Good morning, Jimmy,” she said brightly, even though her heart was in her throat. “Or should I say, good afternoon?”

“Tegan.” He dusted his hands on his apron. “You look different somehow.”

Flipping one of her loose strand of hair, she said, “It’s probably the hair. I used to pony tail it or tie it in a bun, remember?”

She thought she saw some color in his cheeks as he said. “Yes, that’s probably it. Where have you been? I’ve been terribly worried about you.”

“Worried? For what?”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye as he said, “The way you left here yesterday, you seemed, well upset. I went looking for you but couldn’t find you anywhere.”

She forced a laugh. “You must have looked in all the wrong places. I let a room for myself at the Night Watch Hotel. By the way, what did you want from me?”

“Want?”

“Why were you looking for me?”

Jimmy’s lips twitched, and again he avoided her gaze. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, and that you had enough money to tide you over until the next train comes to town.”

“Oh, Jimmy. I have my own money.”

 A thrill ran through her at the truth behind those words. She was actually earning her own money, her keep, for the first time in her life.

Buoyed, she glanced at the display case on the counter. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I just have to have one of your wonderful Green Tea Doughnuts. I’ve really missed them.”

Tegan hoped he understood that she’d implied she missed his baked goods, not him. Jimmy’s blank expression told her that he simply took her at her word as he reached into the display, withdrew one of the doughnuts, and then placed it on a piece of parchment.

“How much do I owe you?” Tegan asked, taking the good off the counter.

“Nothing,” Jimmy scolded. “I can’t charge you.”

“Oh, but I insist.” Again feeling a thrill, she dropped a dollar off the counter, undoubtedly more than enough for one. “Thank you, Jimmy. Maybe I’ll see you around town sometime.”

Before he could find his tongue, Tegan turned and swept out the door. She’d been afraid that seeing him again would be her undoing, and that instead of convincing him that she didn’t want him back, she’d do something stupid like throw herself on his mercy. The knowledge that she’d somehow found the strength to do just the opposite made Tegan feel lighter than air, filled with a kind of crazy euphoria. She practically skipped as she walked on down the boardwalk, and was surprised when she looked up to see that she arrived at the doors of the Superclose Society Weekly building. Glancing at the doughnut in her hand, inspiration struck.

Tegan stepped through the maple door and went right up to the newspaper counter. “Good afternoon, Missus Feldman.”

She looked up from her desk correcting, “It’s Liz. What brings you here today? I don’t need you until Wednesday.”

Tegan put her present down on the counter. “I brought you a Green Tea Doughnut from Jimmy’s Bakery.”

Liz shot out of her chair. “Oh, I just love those.”

It occurred to Tegan that she no longer had a taste for them.

Eyeing the pastry, Liz asked, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Without waiting for an answer, Liz bit into the sweet. The deep creases around her mouth suggested that she was a woman who laughed freely and often.

Testing that theory, Tegan replied, “I bought it in case I’m not as good at spelling as I might have implied.”

A mouthful of doughnut didn’t stop Liz from laughing out loud. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that,” she said, swallowing the last of the treat. “Now, is this little bit of bribery the only reason you stopped by?”

“Actually,” Tegan said, thinking back to the previous night, “we could use a few more newspapers down at the Oh My Darling. I think they all sold out last night.”

“Is that right?” Liz puffed up her bosom. “Am I to assume that you were there participating in the poker tournament?”

“Oh, god no. I’m employed there as a waitress.”

“You work for Sara?” At Tegan’s nod, Liz’s pale eyes went both soft and hard, sparkling like diamonds. “Lucky girl.”

Was every woman in town in love with Sara Clement? Tegan wondered, wondering too if Sara loved any of them back.

“I am glad to hear that you have another job,” Liz continued. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this paper going. Since the Sainthood Tribune came here a few months back, I’ve barely been breaking even.”

Tegan had found the time to read both papers, so this came as no surprise. “It must be difficult to compete with a daily newspaper.”

“Damn right it is, especially since they have so much big wig money behind them. I collect most of the big news from the Tribune during the week and offer a short version in my paper. I’m going to have to do something different if I want to stay in business.”

Tegan wanted to argue with her, to tell her that she thought SCS was fine just the way it was, but she couldn’t lie. Aside from a few local articles and notices, there wasn’t much special about Liz’s paper.

“Maybe you could expand the local section,” Tegan suggested. “I think most folks would love to read about themselves.”

Liz barked a laugh, and then went to her desk. When she returned, she had a small pile of notes in her hand. “This is a sample of the kind of thing I get from the fine citizens of Sainthood Village. How much expanding do you think I’ll do if I write about this?”

She took one of the notes from the pile and read it out loud. “Dear Madam Editor: I think my husband goes to the strip clubs, and bars, and has taken to drink. I heard tell I could cut his arm and set a match to his blood. How big a flame proves he’s a tippler?” She looked up at Tegan. “If I wrote that up in my paper, and had the gall to give the woman my honest opinion, I’d be run out of town on a rail.”

Although Tegan understood the problem, the letter tickled her funny bone. “Too bad,” she said, laughing softly. “This letter is hysterical.”

Liz pondered that moment. “It is pretty titillating at that. I’d love to put it in the paper, maybe in its own column, but I’d still have to answer to the townsfolk.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you had other reporters writing for you the way the Tribune does. That way you could blame the column on someone else.”

Liz drew her brows together, thinking it over, and then said, “An excellent idea, dear, but I’d never find someone fool enough to write about this.”

Tegan shrugged. “Well, it was just an idea.”

Liz cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. Tapping her finger against the counter, she said, “Didn’t you mention that you were good at spelling _and_ writing?”

“Y-yes,” Tegan said warily.

Liz pushed the letter toward her. “Maybe you’d like to try your hand as a reporter.”

The thought of writing her own column was so overwhelming that Tegan’s breath froze in her lungs. She wanted to hoot and holler, stomp her feet, and twirl in circle. Then she realized what attempting such an endeavor would involve. She sure didn’t want to incur the wrath of anyone, much less people she hadn’t even met.

“What about the townsfolk? Won’t they be mad at me?”

“There is that. You’d probably become the most unpopular person in town.” Liz tapped her finger more rapidly. “Unless . . . unless you write the column under another name, something you make up, and we tell our readers that this columnist writes for a fancy blog or paper somewhere else.”

“Like Chicago or New York?”

“Right.” Liz’s enthusiasm almost matched Tegan’s. “I like the sound of New York. By Jove, I think this might actually work.”

“You really want me to do it?”

“I think so. Just be warned, if you do write this column, you won’t get credit for the work. Most writers can’t wait to show off their work and call it their own. Isn’t that going to bother you?”

“No,” she promised, meaning it. “But are you really, really sure you want me— _me_ —to write this?”

“Odds are it won’t work out, but there’s no harm in you giving it a try.” Liz paused, brought her fist to her mouth, and tapped the knuckles against her lips. At length she said, “We can call it an advice column, but I can’t think what we ought to call you. Any ideas?”

Tegan thought of her old neighbor, the one who thought she knew everything. “How about Alice?”

Tapping her lips a final time, Liz said, “Alice. That’ll work. If you get busy on this and have a decent answer by Wednesday, something my readers will like, we might even be able to debut the new column with the next edition. Why don’t we call it ‘Ask Alice?’”

 


End file.
